


When the Sparrow Sings

by StormEnchanter



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Homoeroticism, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, a little bit of dead dove in here too if you squint hard enough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormEnchanter/pseuds/StormEnchanter
Summary: Set right after Guillermo has to rescue his favorite vampires from the clutches of the Vampiric council.Guillermo thought things would change after rescuing his vampire master and his roommates. Thought he would now be on equal footing with them all, after having the secret that he's a vampire killer, forcibly dragged out into the daylight. But everything in his life seems to have gone to shit. He and Nandor's relationship is rocky at best, armed with the knowledge that Guillermo has the tools to kill vampires on a mere whim. And there's the fact that the Vampire Council comes knocking on their door and offers a truce to the Staten Island Vampires. Peace, but at what cost? Well, that cost happens to be Guillermo himself. Given only two weeks to make a decision, Guillermo uncovers some truths that force him to view Nandor in a different light. Some truths that reveal that Guillermo wasn't the first familiar to lust after Nandor.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless, Laszlo Cravensworth/Nadja
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

Standing in a theater once populated by vampires from the very cream of vampire society, it's now strewn with broken furniture, discarded and bloody stakes, and more blood than should be reasonable. The camera crew focuses on Nandor’s former familiar—could he really describe himself like that, after he’d just raced across Staten Island in order to save his vampiric master, his roommates, and even Colin Robinson?

Guillermo’s hair is slightly tousled, his chest rising and falling with the rapid breaths he’s taking. Blood is streaked across his face and saturated on clothes that stick to him like a second skin. A sharp frown overcomes his features as he momentarily glances down at himself and wonders if his deodorant stick full of tide remover will manage to get the stains out.

“Guillermo?” The familiar lifts his head as his master’s smooth voice seems to fill the space of the destroyed theater. “Is there something you haven’t been telling us?” Even bound to a chair with silver manacles, Nandor’s dark eyes are enough to make the Guillermo that existed an hour ago cower and tremble. But now that he’s soaked to the bone with vampire blood and exhaustion leaking from his pores, it’s taking the last bit of his strength just to stand up and face him.

The single spotlight in the theater shines down upon him, framing his body in a golden halo as if he’s some gothic painting come to life. Wordlessly, he glances around the theater, taking in broken and upturned furniture along with the bodies strewn about, there’s the near-silent  _ drip, drip, drip _ sound of droplets of blood dripping from a shoe. 

Turning to face the vampires, his eyes silently drink their visage in. Nandor’s eyes are dark and unreadable, a warrior’s stoic expression. It’s the ultimate poker face, one that Guillermo can’t read despite the 11 years of servitude he’s given over to Nandor, despite all the whims and nuances that he’s come to know about his master over the year, there are rare times where he’s unable to truly read him. It’s not his master that peers down at him but Nandor the Relentless, the 757-year-old warrior of Al Quolanduar, the man who had turned the Euphrates red twice with the blood of those he had pillaged and slaughtered.

Beside him, Colin Robinson is staring at Guillermo, the corner of his lip quirked with a bemused expression as the edges of his irises glow faintly with an icy blue color. Every so often, his eyes sweep over the theater, his lips pressed tightly together as if Guillermo’s act of vampire slaying was an amusing avant-garde performance put on by the Théâtre des Vampires.

Nadja’s face is contorted with a mixture of disgust and wariness, her dark eyes are beady as she glances at Guillermo. Fear tears at the edges of her being, a fraying blanket that’s unraveling at the fringes as she gazes at Guillermo with a new-found fright that she only ever reserved for the zany superstitions that she kept with her from girlhood.

Disgust colors Laszlo’s pale face, but it’s not the sort of disgust reserved for Guillermo’s actions, it’s the kind of disgust that paints itself onto the vampire’s face whenever he’s annoyed at having missed out on an excellent time.

“My name,” the words roll calmly off of Guillermo’s tongue, despite the stake he’s holding in his right hand and the silver brass knuckles that grace his left hand dripping with blood that has yet to crust against the metal, “is Guillermo de la Cruz.”

There’s an odd tension in the air that rolls between the familiar and the vampires trapped on stage. Even the camera crew that hovers there like an afterthought can feel it. However, that thick miasma is only to be broken by Nandor’s nettled exclamation of, “Don’t care what the fuck your name is. We had to pick up our own laundry!”

Guillermo’s brows slightly rise, head-turning slightly to stare into the nearest camera focused on him. His expression colors with astonishment as if to say  _ you’re all more upset about the laundry than me murdering a horde of vampires? _

“Yes,” Nadja snaps, mouth twisting with irritation, “the village washerwoman couldn’t get the stains out of my favorite dress the way that you do, Gizmo. Now come and untie us.”

Pushing out a sigh through his nose, Guillermo makes his way toward the stage to free the vampires. It isn’t quick enough for Laszlo, however, as he remarks, “Hurry it up, chap. I’ve had orgasms quicker than the pace you’re walking.”

He frees the four vampires who rub at their wrists gingerly as they take in the destruction around them.

“What a fucking night!” Nandor promulgates as Laszlo glides down the stage and heads towards the mess of destruction that Guillermo had left in his wake to pluck his top hat out between upturned chairs and corpses. 

He brushes off a speck of dirt on it, ignoring the flecks of blood that are soaked into the silk. Fixing it upon his head, he glances back at his companions and wife with a deep scowl upon his face. “This by far,” he hums, “is the worst play I’ve ever been to and I sat through  _ L’Orphelin de la Chine _ when Voltaire played the role of Ghengis Khan!” Laszlo holds out his arm for his wife as she descends the stage, “Come, my love, at least we can go make something of the night for ourselves.”

A smile flickers across Nadja’s blood-red painted lips as she takes her husband’s arm and walks out of the theater. The night wind carrying snatches of their conversation that includes Nadja’s suggestion of taking a moonlit stroll through the graveyard and snacking on stray nighttime joggers.

“Well,” Colin’s lips twitch with the faint ghost of a smile, “this has been an... _ interesting _ evening.”

His eyes faintly flash blue as he leaves the theater, off to drain the energy of some old people at a nursing home or whatever it was that he got up to whenever he left the house.

That left only Guillermo and Nandor—well the camera crew too, but they had their cameras pointed at the two. Still standing upon the stage, Guillermo has to tip his head back slightly to stare at the vampire, the faint thought of murmuring out  _ it’s over Anakin, I have the high ground now _ bubbles upon the surface of his tongue. He swallows the urge to blurt out the nerdy line down as the brief thought that Nandor, despite his age, might have never seen the Star Wars films blooms in his mind.

“Guillermo.” His name rumbles upon his master’s tongue, a strange tremble to it that wraps around each letter like a foreign wine made of fruit that was unpronounceable and left forgotten to age in a cellar.

“Yes, master?”

“Clean up the house when you return. It’s a mess.”

Without another word, Nandor descends down the steps of the stage, his cape fluttering behind him as his boots step over bodies and pools of blood only to stop when he finds himself standing in front of his familiar. His mouth twisted ever so slightly, eyes beady in a way that makes them look like obsidian. Carefully, Nandor lifts a hand as if it to reach out and touch Guillermo, but lets the appendage drop down to his side with a disgusted grunt that reverberates in his chest.

Left alone with the camera crew, Guillermo sighs as he makes his way out of the theater and picks his way toward the bus stop despite the crew members offering him a ride back to the house considering the state he’s in. But he politely declines, needing the somewhat lengthy bus ride and the walk back to have his head pressed against the cool glass and collect his thoughts for what the hell had happened back at the Théâtre des Vampires. 

When the bus finally comes, Guillermo climbs up the steps and taps his pass against the card reader. The bus driver glances at him for a fraction of a second and either pretended to not notice that his clothes are drenched with blood or doesn’t care considering this is New York and they’ve definitely seen worse.

Thankfully, the bus is mostly empty at such a late hour of the night. The only other soul on it a college student listening to heavy metal that Guillermo can hear the deep thrums of out of their earphones. They tap away at their phone and glance up at him as he passes by on his way to the back of the bus. With one sweeping glance, they take a look at him and he doesn’t even need to turn to know his disheveled state has been chalked up to a weird sex thing or the remnants of a weekend gone freaky.

A relieved sigh hisses out of him as he takes a seat, pressing his forehead against the cool glass, he lets his eyes shut as he thinks about his secret now being in the open amongst the four vampires. At least Laszlo had seemed the most impressed at his vampire-slaying skills. His chest pangs a little when he thinks about the unreadable expression upon Nandor’s face but he doesn’t dwell on it for long.

By the time Guillermo returns to the house and trudges through the front door, he’s greeted by copious pools of dried or still wet blood, dirty laundry, and various other things strewn about that he has to straighten or clean.

Tugging up his sleeves, a sigh rumble’s in the familiar’s chest as he glances around himself and sets about getting to work. Gathering up all the dirty laundry in the house, he throws a load of Nadja’s clothes in sets about trying to scrub out the bloodstains on the floors. It’s an hour to when the vampires finally return home to see a pristine and cleanly abode.

“Ah! Gizmo!” Nadja twists her head to take in everything, her mouth streaked with blood and a giggly girlishness draped around her that makes Guillermo wonder if she and Laszlo had drunk on more than a couple of stray joggers. “The place doesn’t look like my grandfather’s goat farm!”

That’s as close to a compliment as Guillermo will ever get from the female vampire. The vampire couple sweeps their way upstairs.

“You know,” Colin Robinson starts, an impish smile gracing his features, “goats were actually the first mammals to be tamed by humans up to 9,000 years ago—”

“Colin Robinson!” Nandor snaps, fangs glinting beneath the dim lights. That impish smile upon Colin’s face doesn’t slip even as his eyes faintly glow blue. His master fixes his gaze upon him once the energy vampire has slithered his way toward the basement. “Guillermo, come, get me ready for bed.”

Following his master up to his bedroom, Guillermo goes through his fairly established routine. He removes Nandor’s brocade and fur-lined cape to drape it over the armrest of the velvet colored chaise lounge in the room. He retrieves the hairbrush and starts raking it through Nandor’s silken raven-colored locks. There’s a tension in the room that has the hair on the back of Guillermo’s neck bristling, his lips are tightly pressed together when Nandor turns his head to stare at him, locks of his hair slipping from his familiar’s fingers as if it was liquid.

“Are you going to kill me too?”

The question’s so sudden and jarring that all Guillermo can do is blink, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks. “Master?”

“Are. You. Going. To. Kill. Me. Too?” Each word is punctuated by Nandor taking a step toward his familiar, with Guillermo taking a step back until his knees are pressed against the chaise. 

“Maste—” the word’s barely finished when Nandor let’s out a disgruntled hiss. His fangs bared before Guillermo’s face as he glares down at the thin gap of space between them. Guillermo had hardly any time to remove his vampire-slaying gear before he had begun cleaning. He hadn’t even had time to change his clothes, so when he glances down in the thin gap of space between him and his master, he notices the cross-shaped brass knuckle hovering mere millimeters away from Nandor’s abdomen. “Master! I—”

There’s a hand wrapped around his neck, the pad of a thumb pressed against his jugular. There’s pressure against his neck, just enough to make his eyes slightly widen but not enough to make him worry about having the air choked out of him.

“I will not ask you again, Guillermo,” Nandor’s eyes are dark, a shadow over his face that Guillermo has never seen before that makes Guillermo’s skin prickle with the peril of it that reminds him that he truly knows nothing about Nandor. Not Nandor the Relentless, the warrior who had no issue slaughtering women and children in servitude of an empire that was no more. Nor Nandor of the 21st century who Guillermo truly only knew a facsimile of. Guillermo swallows thickly, even as Nandor continues, “will you kill me too with your—” he glances at the stakes strapped around Guillermo’s body, his gaze shifting to the silver chain of the cross that hangs around his neck before settling on his brass knuckle, “—vampire-slaying tools? Or shall you wait until I am asleep in my coffin?”

Guillermo doesn’t know what Nandor is trying to get at for a fraction of a second until the metaphorical lightbulb above his head shatters. He realizes what Nandor is asking him; what line separates his master and the vampires that live here from those that he’s already slaughtered? What’s to stop Guillermo from turning his very weapons on the people he’s been protecting?

There’s some strange bravado that washes over him, makes his own eyes a dark, stormy pool that reflects Nandor’s own visage back to him. “Aren’t I nothing more than the ‘last donut in the display cabinet,’ master? Do you really think you have anything to fear?”

Nandor hisses, his grip tightening on Guillermo’s throat as he pushes him backward, his knees buckle against the chaise and he falls against it. “Tell me, Guillermo,” Nandor’s eyes flash with a dangerous glint to them as he stares down at his familiar, not as the master who he serves but as Nandor the warrior. Hidden of so carefully just beneath the flesh and ready to be drawn out whenever Nandor had need of him. “Do you even understand what my words meant?”

“Do I understand?” Guillermo scoffs, rage and annoyance bubbling in his veins, “I understand perfectly well that I’m the last, unwanted donut in a display case.” His eyes narrow as years of unthanked servitude wash over him; years that he had spent serving  _ and _ protecting Nandor and to that extent Laszlo and Nadja and he wasn’t even their fucking familiar! “The same unwanted donut that you keep around instead of tossing out.” Guillermo’s voice rises by an octave even as his heart slams wildly in his chest from his nerves. 

Nandor’s face smoothes out, his eyes don’t lighten up but there’s a flicker in them of...amusment? There’s something in his eyes that makes Guillermo feel like he doesn’t understand the situation to its fullest extent. 

“Let me tell you something, Guillermo, words are the sheathed weapons warriors carry as their sides when the battle calls for words instead of swords.” His lips quiver into the ghost of a smile, “they are pretty little things that can easily be more deadly than a mere dagger. Here you are, pinned to this piece of furniture by hand alone and no others. You’re not the last donut in the display cabinet because you are unwanted,” there’s an unfamiliar expression that seems to enshroud Nandor’s face, “it is because you are the last delectable treat left.”

Guillermo’s eyes widen at Nandor’s words, “Wha—” he starts to say only to be cut off by a sharp hiss from his master that has him clamping his lips shut.

“Eleven years,” Nandor hisses, “eleven years you’ve been under my servitude. Eleven years in which I could have easily sunk my fangs into your neck, drained you dry of every drop of your virginal blood and I didn’t.” Guillermo swallows as the dim lamplights in the room bounce off the surface of Nandor’s saliva slicked fangs. “Eleven years in which I exalted control over myself,  _ struggled _ , even to keep myself from sipping on your blood that calls out to every vampire in Staten Island like a siren’s song. Now let me ask you again, Guillermo, are you going to kill me too?”

There’s hardly a sound in the room, save for Nandor’s slow breaths and the steady thrum of Guillermo’s heart that sounds like a horse’s hooves on a racetrack. They say nothing, just stare into the other’s eyes to see who would break first. Guillermo? The vampire slayer who only just discovered his hidden family lineage or Nandor? The vampire that had seen everything, gone toe to toe with creatures that were mere figments of a child’s imagination for Guillermo. The hold on the familiar’s neck tightens slightly, just enough pressure to remind him who exactly is in charge of the situation here. 

Who has always been in charge.

Who has always had him wrapped around on strings, ready to be jerked around like a puppet with a simple command.

“Yes,” Guillermo squeaks out through the tight grip Nandor keeps on his neck.

The vampire’s eyes droop slightly, long lashes serving as a veil for dark eyes that are near black that Guillermo can hardly discern pupil from iris. “Yes, Guillermo?” The words rumbling past Nandor’s lips and off of his tongue are a mere whisper. 

“I wouldn’t ever dream of harming you,” Guillermo swallows his words down thickly as if it were molasses, his head’s still swimming from the fact that Nandor had acknowledged out loud that Guillermo was the last delicious treat in the display case. The fancy treat that the patissier had spent hours working on, hours decorating only for potential customers to fight over it as their lust consumes them.

Satisfied with his familiar’s words, Nandor’s fingers slide away from Guillermo’s neck as he observes him for what feels like an eternity. “Very well,” the vampire whispers, “you may leave me, Guillermo, I can see myself to bed tonight.”

With a stiff nod, Guillermo slinks away from his master and out of his room and into the hallway where he presses his back against the closed door just as Laszlo chooses that singular moment to walk by puffing on his pipe.

Curiously, he raises a brow in Guillermo’s direction, lifting a finger to motion at the familiar as he pulls the tip of his pipe out of his mouth. “You might want to take care of that, old chap,” the English vampire tells him as he points unabashedly at the faint outline of a bulge in the familiar’s jeans, “I have some of my old pornography that you can peruse while you square dance with Satan.”

“No,” Guillermo manages to choke out as embarrassment colors his cheeks, “I think I’m good.”

“Suit yourself then,” Laszlo addresses with a shrug of his shoulders, fitting his pipe back into his mouth he walks away. Leaving Guillermo to groan as he sinks into a squat and hopes that the house swallows him whole.


	2. Chapter 2

Normalcy returned to the house or as normal as it could get after how tense that interaction between Nandor and Guillermo had gotten. 

His master had returned to treating Guillermo in that indifferent way of his, never once bringing up or mentioning the tense conversation that had occurred between them. Guillermo knew he should have been grateful for such an occurrence, after all, he could easily push the interaction in the back of his mind or so he wished. During the first weekly house meeting that Nandor had called for after his familiar’s return made Guillermo want to walk out to the garden and let the earth swallow him up whole.

“Now, on to the first order of business,” Nandor motions to his vampire roommates with Guillermo posted by the door in case Colin tried to weasel his way into the room. “I’ve noticed that there’s been a lot of cups being left in the sink that are stained after Guillermo washes them. Please remember to let the cups soak first before putting them into the sink.”

Nadja lets out a disgruntled noise, her fangs flashing briefly in the light of the fireplace as Nandor continued with the meeting. “On the next order of business, Laszlo, I’ve been noticing that the garden has been covered in a lot of....well,  _ semen _ , so if you could clean up after yourself or conduct your business elsewhere that would be appreciated.”

“Hold on now,” Laszlo who had been smoking his pipe on the couch, rips it away from his mouth to glare at the Iranian vampire. “I may be depraved but I’d never clean my own musket outside where I trim my own mother’s vagina every day—”

Nadja and Nandor make audible noises of disgust as Guillermo pinches his brows together to stare at a nearby camera. 

“—I’m more respectable than that,” Laszlo argues, he jerks his pipe in Guillermo’s direction, “why don’t you ask your familiar if that’s his own gentleman’s relish covering my poor mother and wife’s intimate parts.” The look on Guillermo’s face as he stares at the camera is one of a man who wished for lightning to strike the house and end his life. “After all, the other day, the poor chap had an erection so noticeable I offered him a chance to peruse my pornography selection.”

“The other day?” The twitch of Nandor’s eyebrow is a subtle reaction; subtle enough that Guillermo doesn’t notice it but the corner of Nadja’s mouth curve ever so slightly, her small eyes narrowing until the irises are two smooth obsidian stones in her sockets.

"What happened the other day?" Nadja's lips peel back to expose the tips of her fangs, the ghost of humor dances on her tongue as she speaks. Her gaze flickers from her husband to Nandor and then to the human familiar.

"Nothing," Nandor snaps out a little too quickly which only further heightens Nadja’s suspicion.

“It wasn’t me,” Guillermo quickly supplies as Nandor opens his mouth to let out a strangled disgusted noise.

“I don’t care who’s it is,” Nandor huffs, “it’s just disgusting and someone needs to deal with all the semen out there.”

All of the vampire’s eyes settle on Guillermo. The familiar’s lips flatten out into a thin grey line, “I’ll go clean up all the semen,” he lets them know with a resolute sigh. 

Grabbing a mop and a bucket, Guillermo heads outside to the garden where the camera pans after dozens of artfully trimmed hedges that resemble vaginas. Ropes of thick, mucilaginous semen cover the grounds of the garden and shrubbery. “Well,” Guillermo exasperatedly chuckles at the camera that pans over to him, “this isn’t the worst Friday night I’ve ever had.” He pauses, his gaze flickering over to one of the shrubbery where the thick liquid oozes down the hedge before plopping onto the ground with a wet  _ splunk _ sound. The expression on the familiar’s face falls as he stares at the camera, “ _ okay _ , this might be the worst ever Friday I’ve had.”

Settling into his duty, Guillermo starts mopping up the bodily fluids. He’s an hour into the cleaning when he pauses, goosebumps cascading up his arms, he quickly turns to the camera crew. “You guys might want to take a step back, something’s coming.” 

The camera crew takes a step back away from Guillermo as a vampire that looks like Nosferatu comes flying over the fence and lands in a puddle of semen. “Wha—” the vampire starts to say, their feet giving out from underneath them causing them to tip backward and slip into the pool of bodily fluids. “Wha—the fuck—is this werewolf semen!?” A loud hiss of disgust rips through the air as the vampire stands up, their black trenchcoat covered in semen. A stew of disgust and shock rumbles through the vampire’s throat. A glare is shot at Guillermo’s way as the vampire tries unsuccessfully to shake some of the liquid off of their coat sleeves. “Are you the familiar that lives here?” A voice that once in it’s prime had been smooth like honey and a rich timber of whiskey addresses Guillermo.

“I am,” Guillermo confirms, his eyes narrowing slightly and his grip on the mop clutched in his hand tightening as the vampire stalks toward him. He watches as a clawed hand shoves itself into a pocket and pulls out a thin, cornstarch white envelope. The envelope is thrust out toward Guillermo, hovering a few inches away from his chest. The corners are smeared with drops of semen that has the familiar frowning as he hesitantly snatches the envelope away. “Is that it?” Guillermo’s eyes flicker up to the vampire who’s been busy trying to wipe the semen off of themselves to notice him.

Turning the envelope over in his hand, he’s unsurprised to find Nadja, Laszlo, and Nandor’s name written across the surface of the envelope in red, ornate cursive lettering. Colin’s name was tacked on below the others in rushed austere handwriting as if his name had been added to the envelope like an afterthought.

On the back of the envelope in violet wax was stamped the Vampiric Council’s seal. 

“Thank—” the word’s just starting to push itself past Guillermo’s lips as he becomes painfully aware that the semen covered vampire has been taking a step forward until they’ve invaded Guillermo’s personal space.

Wordlessly, the familiar watches the vampire take a sniff at the air and pause, “There’s a virgin here.”

Ice water floods through Guillermo’s veins, his grip on the mop tightening as the vampire stares at him for a second...two seconds...three seconds and more. Enough that the brief thought that it would take approximately 20 seconds for Guillermo to reach the front door from the garden briefly flitted through the familiar’s mind. But he cursed silently, his morality scolding him for hypothetically leaving the camera crew behind. He watches, thin, grey lips peel back to expose elongated fangs that glisten in the slivers of moonlight that strike them.

Lunging forward the vampire is met with Guillermo’s screams as he lifts the mop and brings it crashing over the vampire’s head. The handle cracks into two, leaving a jagged handle in Guillermo’s hand and the other end lying in the grass. Shoving the jagged end of the mop into the vampire’s chest, he hears the squelch of soft flesh and feels the wet, warm sensation of blood dripping down the handle and onto his hand.

Yanking the handle out of the vampire’s chest, the creature of the night collapses lifelessly in the garden. Retreating back inside the manner, Guillermo finds Nandor in the library, thumbing through a book.

Nandor’s mouth wrinkles in disgust when he sees Guillermo step into the library covered in semen and blood. “Guillermo!” The vampire scowls, “don’t come into the library covered in fluids from the body!”

“A letter came for everyone in the house, master.”

Holding out his hand, Nandor curls his fingers in a grabbing motion, “Well, give it here.”

Crossing the room, the familiar lays the letter down in his master’s waiting palm. Eager to see the contents of the letter, Nandor jabs one clawed finger at the edge of the envelope and uses it to flay the material open. He plucks out an ivory-colored letter written in red ink and scans the contents of it, his brows becoming pinched with each word that he consumes. “Laszlo! Nadja!” The Iranian vampire cries as he leaps to his feet and rushes out into the hall with Guillermo hot on his heels. The familiar follows Nandor into the married couple’s room where Nadja is busy working on a piece of embroidery and Laszlo is smoking his pipe as he peruses through his collection of old-time music records.

“What’s all the hubbub for, old chap?” Laszlo scowls, pausing in his work as he picks up a vinyl of  _ Abbey Road _ by The Beatles.

Waving the letter in front of his face showcasing the symbol of the Vampiric Counsel emblazoned at the top of it. “We are having company,” Nandor intones like a warrior preparing for battle, “the Vampiric Council shall be paying us a visit.”

The mood in the room sours as the married vampires stare at Nandor as if he’d just told them one of their own had died.

“Did someone say we’re having company?” Guillermo and Nandor jump as they turn to find Colin standing behind them, his hands shoved into his pockets with an amused smile painted across his features. “I enjoy company,” he starts, “the best company I ever had was the company Christmas party I went to last year—”

“Not now, Colin Robinson!” Nadja snaps, “we’ve just been informed that the Vampiric Council is undoubtedly coming to our home to finish the job of killing us. Like the poor chicken my cousin, Yorik tried to kill. We had to chop it’s head off again after he barely cut through it.” Her ruby red lips puff out into a frown, “what are we going to do?” She bemoans, sticking her needle through the fabric where it rests.

There’s a gloom that hangs around the house that Colin feasts on as the vampires wait around for the lone council member to grace their doorstep. The letter had divested that the vampires would be expecting to have their guest visit them around midnight. That was only two hours away according to the clock Guillermo glanced up at. Nandor had snapped at him to ensure the house was clean before the arrival of their guest and the ensure that the two humans that had currently in the cells were well fed in case their guest was feeling famished and wanted a snack.

Guillermo knew the vampires were tense as he set about cleaning chandeliers, dusting off the artworks littering the house, and ensuring there weren’t any drops of blood left behind on the furniture or the floors. When midnight rolls around, the vampires are standing in the foyer, looking pristine and well kept in their finery, but Guillermo can feel the tension in the room, sees it by the way Nandor, Laszlo, and Nadja stiffen as the doorbell rings.

“Gizmo, get the door,” Nadja hurriedly whispers, flapping her hand at the door as Guillermo rushes forth and throws it open. 

The floating woman who’d shown up to the manor the first time around to summon them to their trial before the Vampiric Council. “The esteemed council leader, Tilda, graces you with her presence.” The woman disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving behind Tilda in her wake. The council leader’s eyes seem to pierce through Guillermo as she stands at their doorstep, her hands clasped behind her back as she makes no movement to come in.

Some time passes before her mead-like voice questions, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Oh, yes!” Nadja gasps, her fingers plucking at the edges of her skirt as she does a little bow. 

“You may come into our lovely abode—”

“—please come in to our home—”

“—just cross over the threshold, you old bat—”

The three vampires’ words jumble over each other as Colin’s grin never slips from his face, his eyes flashing blue as Tilda sweeps over the threshold with Guillermo squeezing out of her way.

“Ah, what brings a member of the Vampiric Council to our doorstep?” Nandor, seemingly emboldened by some sense of confidence questions as Tilda walks around the foyer, peering at the art hanging on the walls. She comes to a stop in front of the nude portrait of Nadja, turning her head slightly to peer at the vampires.

There’s a smile on her face, yet it’s not filled with warmth, just a cold, icy shell of a smile. Like wolves in a snowy tundra, majestic beasts that look beautiful from afar, only to find up close that they’re brutal killers when pushed to the brink of their limits. Tilda’s eyes shift from vampire to vampire, drinking their visage in only to pick them apart with her gaze. She flays cloth from flesh, then flesh to sinew and muscle, from sinew and muscle until she gets down to their bones.

It’s a gaze that even causes Colin Robinson’s smile to slip from his face.

Tilda chuckled, a cold, grating sound that caused a shiver to run up and down the length of Guillermo’s spine.”What indeed,” there’s the barest hint of humor in her voice, it’s barely a tremor, her eyes two round new moons reflected upon her sclera.

“We don’t have all night to waste,” Laszlo sneers, “why’s the council come to bother us now after you tried to kill us at the theater? Come to finish the job, eh?”

“‘ _ Finish the job _ ’?” Tilda’s brows quirk up in amusement as the vampires’ frown at her.

“Yes,” Nadja nods as if her husband’s assessment is correct, “the second attempt the counsel has made against our lives,” she adds.

“The second?” The leader of the Vampiric Council lets out a girlish laugh as if Nadja had just tried to convince her that the moon was made of cheese. “Trust me, my dear girl, if that was our second attempt on your lives we wouldn’t have had to go through such  _ theatrics _ to get you there. No, that was merely an attempt after a long string of failed attempts.  _ In fact _ ,” she continues, her eyes burning with a fit of icy anger, “the messenger we sent to you failed to come back. Do you have any clue what happened to him?” She cocks her head to the side, her hands still clasped behind her, “or did you have him murdered the same way you murdered Baron Afanas too?”

Nadja’s head jerks back at the heinous accusation as Lazlo bears his fangs and Nandor looks every bit the warrior he did in his youth. “How dare you!” Lazlo huffs, “of accusing us of murdering another vampire when we’ve had no attempts on our lives since Simon the Devious tried to rob me of my hat again!”

Tilda must find Laszlo’s words humorous, she tips her head back, pressing her hands against her abdomen as she lets out a laugh that sounds like a thousand wind chimes fluttering in the wind. “Oh, how hilarious you four are! Whatever makes you think we stopped?” She cocks a brow in his direction as the four housemates’ eyes shift to stare at Guillermo. The camera crew points the cameras at the familiar who averts his gaze like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

The footage cuts back to Guillermo throughout the past two weeks, staking two vampires as he took out the trash. Using his cross to cause a vampire to trip into the electrified koi pond and much more archived footage that shows Guillermo protecting his housemates from potential death without them knowing once more.

“Guillermo!” Nandor gasps with a scandalized sound.

“Ah, your familiar,” Tilda gasps, in the blink of an eye Guillermo’s standing before her. He didn’t even move his feet, but she has her cold fingers pressed against his chin, forcing him to tip his head back as she leans in close and takes a whiff of him. There’s a disgusted hiss that tumbles past her lips as she drops his chin from her touch. Her dark eyes filled with a combination of amusement and malice. “I can smell that cursed  _ Van Helsing _ blood inside of you.”

The vampire’s spines stiffen at the mention of such an illustrious name. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Laszlo sniffs, “there’s no way, poor Gizmo, here can have the blood of some...some...fictional mythical bloodline inside of him.”

“Fictional?” Tilda turns her gaze back upon the vampires, “I’ve encountered the Van Helsing blood myself from time to time. Weak and diluted as it may have gotten through the ages, I know it’s scent anywhere.”

“Have you come here just to regale us with tales about the Van Helsing bloodline?” Nandor stares at Tilda, there’s a layer of confusion in his eyes but it’s weighted, calculating in a way that brings a smile to the council leader’s face.

“No,” she answers briskly, “perhaps some other time, but no, I’ve come to discuss a... _ truce _ ...of sorts.”

“A truce?” Nandor’s eyes narrow with wariness as the other vampire’s bristle at that. The Vampiric Council had had plenty of opportunities to forge a truce with the Staten Island vampires, what now caused them to reach out personally?

“Yes,” Tilda nods, her hands remaining clasped behind her, “you four have proven time and time again to be a difficult bunch to kill, especially considering your—ah—personal protector.” Everyone glances at Guillermo.

“...What?” Laszlo scoffs, his sentiment seemingly shared by the rest of the vampires except for Colin who looks genuinely bored to be there, and Nandor’s eyes were narrowed as he stared at his familiar.

“A truce,” Tilda hisses sharply, “between the vampires of this abode and the vampiric counsel...including your familiar.”

“What are the terms of this...truce?” Tilda’s eyes glint with mirth as she fixates her gaze upon Nandor. They’re staring intensely at each other, two warriors from differing centuries and worlds, but easily matched in the art of political warfare.

“The council will refrain from attacking you….in exchange for your familiar.” Tilda smiles at Guillermo, dragging the tip of her index finger down the side of his cheek as Guillermo squeaks out a feeble sound.

“What?” The familiar’s eyes widen, his gaze darts to settle upon his master. “Mast—”

Holding up a single hand, Nandor silences Guillermo, his lips gluing themselves together as the Iranian vampire snaps, “Guillermo! Silence!” Nandor’s lips peel back slightly to expose the tip of his fangs.

“Nandor, take the bloody deal,” Nadja hisses at the vampire, her hands pressed firmly against her hips.

Laszlo agrees with her, then again there’s rarely anything that he ever disagrees with her on. “My dear wife is making a good point, my old friend, what’s one familiar in exchange for a lifetime of immunity? I’m sure old Gizmo here would be delighted to lay down his life for us.”

Guillermo’s cheeks turn a shade of wine red as his skin heats up with annoyance at Laszlo’s words. He may not have much going on with his life, but it was his life nonetheless.

“We will need some time to consider your offer.” The words finally slip from the Iranian vampire’s lips as he steeples his fingers together.

The barest flickers of emotion wash across Tilda’s face as if she had foreseen Nandor’s reaction to this offer already. “Very well,” she remarks with the tiniest of nods, “I expect an answer within two weeks’ time. But Nandor,” her pale lips press into a feeble line, she glides across the floorboards, the edge of her bone-white robes unmoving as if she gained the ability to move without walking. Reaching up with a clawed hand, she presses her thumb against Nandor’s cheek. The pad of her thumb strokes across his pale, cold flesh in a manner that makes Guillermo think of a mother comforting her child. “Oh, Nandor,” she clucks her tongue with disappointment, her eyes narrowing as he stares down at her with some measure of discomfort painted across his face. “You were always so...sensitive to humanity.” She taps his cheek with her index, “don’t get so attached to this one...else he’ll end up like Jonathan.”

Guillermo has never seen the four vampires look so disturbed in the eleven years he’s been living in the manor. Nandor seems to get impossible paler by the mention of this mysterious name, Nadja looks as if she’s seen a ghost, Laszlo presses his lips shut as his eyes glare at Tilda with an annoyed rage. Colin’s brows lift slightly as if he only knows enough about the situation to look horrified but not enough to understand the reactions of his housemates.

The familiar wonders who this mysterious Jonathan could be that has Nandor’s eyes burning with a murderous rage.

“I’ll take my leave, now,” Tilda withdraws from Nandor with a satisfied apostrophe of a smile. A game she knows she has won now that she’s tipped over Nandor’s remaining chess piece. She glides across the floorboards towards the door, only stopping to stare at Guillermo, she inclines her head in his direction. “ _ Van Helsing _ ,” she hisses, turning toward the door as it throws itself open for her and she slips out. The door slams behind in her wake.

“ _ It’s de la Cruz _ ,” Guillermo mumbles hotly beneath his breath.

“Guillermo,” the familiar turns at the cold, distant tone of his master. Nandor stares at him in a way like he’s not seeing him;  _ doesn’t _ want to see him. “I shall be going out, there will be no need to see me to bed tonight.”

Guillermo’s lips part open to say  _ something _ . To ask if Nandor is alright, but he doesn’t get the chance as Nandor transforms into a bat and flutters up to the ceiling and out through one of the numerous nooks and crannies that the vampire’s use to slip out of the house while in bat form.

Instead, he focuses his gaze on the married couple in the room. “Nadja. Laszlo. Who’s Jonathan?”

A pained expression darts across Nadja’s face, a girlish whimper brands itself in her chest. Her hand flies up to rest against the heart that no longer beats within her chest. “That is....something you humans would say is a lengthy story.”

Guillermo doesn’t have it in his heart tonight—nor his patience—to correct her on the expression. “Yes, but who was he?”

Nadja’s eyes slip shut for just the briefest of moments only for them to slip open a heartbeat later. There’s the most pitiful look upon her face. “Jonathan was Nandor’s familiar, long before you were even conceived of course, and before Benji was even a thought in his parent’s mind.”

“What happened to him?” There’s something curling in Guillermo’s gut that pleads with him not to ask that question; that pleads with him to not open Pandora’s box of secrets he doesn’t want to hear.

The air in the room seems to get sucked out before Nadja rips off the lid of Pandora’s box and tosses its contents before Guillermo’s feet. 

“Nandor murdered him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell my favorite part of writing this is just to have Laszlo use Victorian euphemisms for sex and bodily fluid?


	3. Chapter 3

“Murdered him?” The question trails off with a high pitched breathless gasp from Guillermo’s lips. His heart slams wildly within him, he blinks rapidly as his mind tries to wrap around Nadja’s words.

_ Nandor murdered his familiar _ , his own thoughts harshly whisper in his brain,  _ there has to be an explanation for it _ .  _ Like what? _ His thoughts coldly sneer at him with a harsh, grating laugh.  _ That Nandor had this other familiar he never told you about? Just like Benji _ . Another part of him whispers,  _ yes, but he seemed so distraught over the mention of Jonathan. Maybe they were lovers _ .

Guillermo waves away the thought in his mind, jealousy coiling hotly inside of his stomach. A sleeping rattlesnake that symbolizes his emotions, a collection that Guillermo isn’t keen on disturbing tonight.

A dark look flashes across Nadja’s face as if she wishes she weren’t having this conversation right now. “It will be much better, Gizmo, if you heard this story sitting down.”

They all walk into the communal area, where Nadja and Lazlo seat themselves on plush couches. Colin sinks into an armchair in the corner of the room but only Guillermo remains standing.

“Gizmo, I think you should take my wife’s advice and have a seat,” Laszlo tells him as he fishes inside of his vest for his pipe and some tobacco to smoke on.

Complying, Guillermo sinks down into the loveseat opposite the married vampires as Nadja presses her fingers together, a remorseful look settling upon her face. “Jonathan was Nandor’s familiar in the early 19th century. At first, when Nandor brought him home, we thought Jonathan had been dinner; he smelled absolutely virginal, a transplant from the old world when such qualities were rare here.”

“Now that you’re mentioning it, dear,” Laszlo removes the tip of his pipe from his mouth, using it to gesture at Guillermo, “Gizmo here smells a bit like Jonathan did back in the day.”

“I was going to mention that,” Nadja smiles at her husband and playfully pats his knee. “But Nandor took an interest in Jonathan. They...understood each other in a way that I nor Laszlo ever could. They would spend most of the night together, entangled in conversations about how the old world had changed since Nandor had left it or the stories of Nandor’s homeland that Jonathan had learned from traders that would line the shipyard that Jonathan had been born in.” A sigh leaves her lips, demure and reserved with the right hints of sadness to it. “They bonded, Nandor and Jonathan, like two dogs in the spring when they mate.”

Guillermo’s cheeks color at the vivid analogy she comes up with, even as she continues on with her tale.

“It wasn’t long before Nandor fell into bed with Jonathan.”

Laszlo snorts, pipe smoke curling out of his nostrils. “Damn right, they were louder than you and me, my love. The two fucked all over the place, I’d never seen Nandor so smitten about anything before, not even the time we went to the traveling freak show!”

“But of course, there weren’t many who approved of their relationship,” Nadja explains which causes Guillermo’s mouth to purse in confusion.

He knows almost all familiar’s are treated like garbage. Viewed as nothing more than a convenient nuisance by their master’s who ordered them to fulfill every single one of their whims or even serve as a source of blood when they were unable to hunt or found nothing that suited their palates. Guillermo had seen too many familiars with necks that were black and blue from masters who had sunk their fangs into their familiars without a care for their wellbeing. Of course, not all of the vampire masters were cruel, clueless maybe in the case of Nadja and Laszlo who’d accidentally killed more familiars than they had kept. But they were never cruel.

“Isn’t that...forbidden or something?” Guillermo asks, his mind conjuring up an unbidden image of Nandor’s glistening, sweat-soaked skin entangled with the body of a pale cherubic man.

“Forbidden?” Nadja snorts, bringing up her hand to press fingers against her life, she tries unsuccessfully to hide her snorts of laughter but fails. “Gizmo, there’s nothing forbidden about a vampire having relations with their familiar.”

“Lord knows that Nadja and I have done so on many occasions,” Laszlo interjects with a salacious wiggle of his brows.

“Some vampires look down upon such things,” Nadja adds, “they find it...how would you say? Like some vampires are trying to reclaim the humanity they gave up. That humans are no more than a source of food so to speak to one—”

“—much less fuck one—” Laszlo interrupts with the yank of his pipe from between his lips.

“—is dangerous and foolhardy. Humans have short lives, to fuck one is one thing but,” she pauses, pain settling into her eyes, “Nandor took it a step too far.”

“What did he do?” Guillermo’s question comes out in a rushed, breathless whisper. His stomach churns with fear, the snake coiling inside of him letting its eyes slip open as its tail rattles with a dangerous warning.

“The old son of a bat went and allowed himself to fall in love,” Laszlo sneers as if the mere idea of falling in love with a human was preposterous at best. “He wouldn’t hear it, not when Nadja nor I reminded him that in the blink of an eye, Jonathan would leave to do something with his life. Fall in love with some random, plump woman and sire a dozen different mouths to feed. It’s the path almost all familiar’s traveled down, Gizmo. One day, you too will leave us again and never come back.”

Swallowing thickly at Laszlo’s words, the flush upon Guillermo’s cheeks sinks down to his neck as he tries to imagine himself walking out of the house, never looking back. He resumes his normal life, falls in love with some random person that makes him feel... _ normal _ ...and has enough kids that his mom can fawn over them.

The idea...sickens him. He couldn’t find himself dreaming of abandoning Nandor and to some extent the other vampires as well, no matter how awful they were to him. A sickening thought of  _ what if  _ lingers inside of him that he shoves into a mental box of memories and thoughts he’ll vow to never touch again. Instead, he forces himself to ask the question that’s been on his mind for some time now. “What happened to Jonathan?” He asks.

“Jonathan was—” Nadja pauses, letting her bottom lip curl into her mouth as the tip of her fangs press against the skin, “—he was here one day and gone the next.”

It’s like the rug beneath his feet has been pulled out from beneath him at that revelation. His lips are pursed together, he has so many questions regarding that. Did Nandor release Jonathan from his servitude or was it something else? He shivers at the thought. His mood sours, however, at the thought that Nandor had shown such unbridled affection to two familiars now that he knows of and here Guillermo was, used and tossed aside like a filthy napkin.

Nadja’s lips part in an effort to soothe the heavy miasma of emotions that plagues over the room. “But before that, Nandor and Jonathan had a falling out, isn’t that right Laszlo?” She looks to her husband who momentarily stops smoking his pipe to add:

“That’s right, woke up one night to Nandor looking as glum as an orphan and Jonathan no longer here. Nandor wouldn’t even tell us where Jonathan had left, just said he was gone and never going to return.”

A frown washed across Guillermo’s face, “Then why did you say Nandor murdered his former familiar?”

“Gizmo,” Nadja shook her head as if he wasn’t following along, “we’re vampires. We live for a very long time and that means we come across our own kind and eventually the humans we befriended or fucked so frequently that we could organize tea parties for every day of the year. We’ve never come across Jonathan once since Nandor told us he would never return.”

“Didn’t help that shortly after I saw the old chap tossing Jonathan’s possessions into a fairly nice hole that he had dug in the garden,” Laszlo adds, a wisp of smoke curling away from the edge’s of his lips. There’s an expression upon his face that seems to say  _ think what you want with this information that’s been given to you. But we both clearly know what’s happened. _

The English vampire’s brows slightly arch upon his face as Guillermo presses his lips firmly together. His head feels fuzzy as he tries to process all of this information that’s been dumped into his lap, but he can barely sort through it all, he rises to his feet, gives a cursory yet wordless nod as he makes his way out of the room.

“Have we broken, Gizmo?” Nadja’s ruby tinted lips part to ask her husband this question.

“No,” Laszlo replies with confidence, he lets a puff of smoke from his pipe curl away from him, “Gizmo’s fine.”

Guillermo was in fact nowhere near fine.

Mechanically, he attended to the various duties he had left around the manor. His mind as empty as a grease-stained platter leftover from the aftermath of a buffet. As much as he didn’t want to think about it, his mind kept turning back to Jonathan, this familiar that he knew so little about but enough to know that he and Nandor had had a relationship.

A relationship that was so intimate in ways that Guillermo couldn’t wrap his head around that he had snapped the feather duster he’d been using in half. The snake inside of his stomach rattled its tail, its eyes snapped open with an alertness that made the familiar slightly sick. It wasn’t until an hour before dawn that his master returned. His heavy boots thudded against the floorboards, a loud sound that was akin to explosions on the battlefield. Lying restlessly in his own bed beneath the stairs, Guillermo’s eyes are pointed at the ceiling as he listens to his master’s footsteps heading to the stairs, only to stop and make a detour toward Guillermo’s room.

His heart leaps into his throat, dancing at a fast pace that has Guillermo immediately sitting up as Nandor comes to stand before the drawn curtains that provide him a modest amount of privacy.

“Guillermo?” Nandor’s harsh whisper of his name comes off like a thunderclap in the confined space. It makes Guillermo’s eyes narrow, a sigh pushes itself out through his nose.

“Yes, master?” Comes the reply. Uncertainty blooms in the familiar’s chest, he doesn’t feel like seeing Nandor right now, his feelings are all in a twist in his gut and his mind keeps focusing on Nandor’s former familiar that he never had the pleasure of hearing about until tonight.

“I need help with my hair before I retire to bed,” there’s a bit of a whine in Nandor’s voice that makes him sound infantile.

“Master,” Guillermo sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, “it’s almost dawn.”

“Guillermo,” Nandor continues to whine, “there are tangles in my hair.”

“Alright, alright,” the words come out in a grumble, “just give me a second, master.” Guillermo slips out of his bed, rises to his feet, and pushes open the curtain to reveal Nandor standing on the other side.

He reeks of blood and his eyes seem darker than normal, there’s an unsteadiness to him as if the earth beneath his feet is constantly moving. It takes Guillermo a second to connect the dots and realize that Nandor is drunk on blood. His master’s hair is visibly tangled as if he’s spent all of the night rolling around in a gutter somewhere. Pressing his lips together, Guillermo holds in a sigh as he follows his master up into his room. Finding his master’s brush he sets to work on detangling Master’s hair; there are complicated knots that Guillermo has to tenderly work through. But it doesn’t stop Nandor from letting out a yelp every so often when Guillermo tends to a big knot in his hair.

“Ow! Guillermo! Be gentle to my hair!” Nandor scowls causing Guillermo to apologize.

It’s monotonous work as Guillermo settles on brushing through Nandor’s hair. Monotonous enough that Guillermo finds himself tangled up in his thoughts and doesn’t notice that he’s becoming harsher with his master’s hair.

“Guillermo!” Nandor snaps, smacking his familiar’s hand away from his hair, “are you trying to rid me of my beautiful locks!?” Nandor whirls around, glaring at Guillermo. His eyes rake across the familiar’s face, noticing the annoyance that morphs into shock. It causes Nandor’s own eyes to narrow, “are you feeling alright, Guillermo?”

“I’m fine, master,” Guillermo replies quickly. Too quickly by the apparent look of disbelief that Nandor gives him.

“Guillermo, if something is upsetting you, feel free to share. Today has been rough on us all,” Nandor explains to him, “I understand you might be upset because we all considered giving you away to the Vampiric Council—”

“—you what?” Guillermo’s blood runs hot as the brush in his hand hangs loosely. That ugly snake inside of him lifts its head, its tongue flickering out to taste the spice of his blood. As if this day already hadn’t been terrible enough for him, the fact that Nandor too had even considered handing him over to the council made his blood boil even more hotly inside of him.

“Well, the idea may have floated around my head for a moment,” Nandor tells him with an elegant roll of his wrist. “But I had plans to throw you a fabulous going away party,” Guillermo says nothing, just blinks at his master as he forces himself to calm down. “But I can tell the prospect of a party upsets you, Guillermo. We can talk about this after I have rested.”

Dourly, Guillermo watches as Nandor rises from the ottoman he’d seated himself on, climbs the little step stool to get into his coffin, and comfortably crosses his arms over his chest. The snake inside of him slithers, hungers to lash out, and gain an ounce of satisfaction for what has proven to be a really shitty day for Guillermo. So he does something that he’ll regret later, his lips part open as he stares at his master’s closed restful expression. “I know about Jonathan.”

Eyes snapping open, Nandor bolts upright with a speed that Guillermo has never seen him use before. His expression is dark and unreadable as he faces his familiar. “Who told you?” The Iranian vampire’s tone is frigid as ice, a coldness that seeps into the familiar’s bones as the snake inside of him cowers and coils in on itself, causing him to lose any ounce of bravado that had once existed.

He says nothing, but the silence is all Nandor needs to discern an answer from. “It was Laszlo and Nadja wasn’t it?” His dark eyes glister amongst the still lit lamps around the room. Guillermo expects to be scolded for learning something that truly the vampire couple had no business in telling him, instead Nandor’s lips curl into a ghost of a tortured expression. There’s something there that Guillermo wants to reach out and touch, layers of complex emotions wrapped beneath a long life and tied up with a bow of enigma that made the familiar feel like he was missing the final act of a play. Instead, Nandor doesn’t scold him, in fact, he says, “We will talk about this after I’ve rested, Guillermo.”

With a tight nod, Guillermo tells him, “Of course, master.”

Reclining back into his coffin, Nandor folds his arms over his chest once more and lets his eyes slip shut. Approaching the coffin, Guillermo reaches up and presses his hand against the lid, pushing the lid down, it’s halfway closed when Nandor murmurs his familiar’s name, “Guillermo?”

“Yes, master?”

Eyes slipping open, Guillermo’s hearts flutters dangerously in his throat as he glances down and sees the Iranian vampire staring at him with an expression that makes Guillermo very aware that despite the fact that Nandor knows he’s a vampire hunter now, that there’s still a natural order to their relationship. That there’s still a hierarchy between them that has some slumbering part of Guillermo’s conscience gleeful about that fact. 

“Do not ever mention Jonathan to me again.” There’s a superciliousness to his words that has a strange, strangled whimper tumble past Guillermo’s lips. Guillermo can feel it in his gut, even as Nandor’s nose twitches and he draws in a deep sniff. There’s a shift in his gaze that causes Guillermo to nervously lick at his lips even as Nandor’s gaze subtly shifts down to his familiar’s crotch. “Also deal with that,” lifting a single hand, Nandor makes a noncommittal gesture toward the obvious tenting of Guillermo’s pants, “I don’t want the whole house smelling like a brothel.” 

“Yes, master,” Guillermo mumbles as he pushes the coffin lid shut. Walking around the room, he turns off all the lights and blows out the candles, before heading out into the hall where thankfully it’s empty. Not even Colin Robinson is there to drink in his shame. He heads for the guest bathroom which is thankfully far away from Nadja and Laszlo’s room. His cheeks burn as he closes the door behind himself, unzips his pants, and fishes out his cock. Pointing the tip at the toilet bowl, he moves his fist, his teeth sink into his bottom lip to stifle his moans. His mind conjuring up images of Nandor’s face as he works himself hot and quick, his body shaking as the imagines in his mind morph into Nandor’s fangs sinking into the crook of his neck. That image has him spilling his seed into the toilet bowl, shame and lust laying themselves in his stomach like longtime bedfellows.

Cheeks burning, Guillermo stares down at the stray droplets of seed that cover his hand. “Guillermo de la Cruz, what are you doing?” He whispers to himself in the tiled bathroom.

He doesn’t get an answer back.


End file.
